Cornered
by JamiesFanGirl
Summary: Hotch argues post-traumatic stress disorder, Prentiss says the story could theoretically be true. But what will the BAU do when the unsub sets her sights on them, instead? ---One year after Demonology, AU, shameless Tom Benton whumping---
1. Prologue

**Copyright: **_Criminal Minds_, its cast, characters and plots are property of Touchstone Television, LOOK! Effects, Inc., Paramount Network Television Productions and the Mark Gordon Company. The show was created by Jeff Davis and is written by Mr. Davis and Simon Mirren.

**(Purposeful) Technical Errors:** You'll notice that I call everyone (except Hotchner) a Special Agent. According to the FBI's website, Supervisory Special Agents head up units—they do not make up entire units by themselves. That's the only time I intend to stick to conceivable reality in this story. ^_^ (I also confess to adjusting the events of "Demonology" to fit my story, and I apologize.)

**A/N: **This story started life in 2005 as _Cornered_ and it involved Gideon and a slightly rushed storyline…but now I have a _different_ target in mind. ;) (Garcia was involved in the original version, so that's why she's breaking out of her office to "come along for the ride".)

By the way—(the original airing of) "Demonology" was the first episode I've watched since Mandy Patinkin left, so I beg your pardon in advance for any canonical inconsistencies (other than the one mentioned above).

* * *

**Prologue**

He crept softly toward the window, taking care not to wake his wife. His glasses glinted balefully in the faint glow of the bathroom nightlight, but he did not bother to reach for them, so familiar was this path. To the bedroom window, pause for a short length of time, then down the hall to the guest room; to be alone with his thoughts—as he had been on so many sleepless nights since Matt's death. A year later, Tom Benton was still questioning whether he had made the right decision.

* * *

It had been a struggle to pull the memory from the depths of his mind, even with these visits to Matt's old room. With some effort, however, Tom eventually recalled the increasing worry he and Andrea had shared in Matt's declining years. He thought it had begun with five months of missed curfews, progressing to raucous parties when he and his wife were gone at length; finally spiraling into suspected drug use and rampant indulgence in prostitution. Andrea had tried to speak with Matt several times, but her queries had fallen on deaf ears. Tom had artfully arranged a few man-to-man talks, but the last had ended with Matt moving out. At last, he agreed with Andrea—it was time to see Father Lawrence, their parish priest.

Tom had attended the first few appointments alone; but when the parish secretary had found him in his car, ten minutes late for the fourth appointment and somewhat glaring at the windshield, Andrea finally consented to come along. The conversations had been endless, it seemed; discussing every nuance of Matt's life and some aspects on which the Bentons had only theorized. Just when Tom had become convinced of his apparent worthlessness as a counselor, however, Father Lawrence pulled through—he wrote them a referral to Father Silvano, a "specialist".

oOoOoOo

From there, Tom couldn't remember…_wouldn't_ remember. He and Andrea had attended a lengthy meeting filled with long silences; followed by a much shorter one, perhaps a week after, with Tom and Father Silvano alone. He barely recalled Andrea refusing to attend the exorcism…and when they laid Matthew in the ground, he found that he couldn't blame her.

* * *

Tom suddenly snapped back to the present as he realized someone was speaking.

"Stupid actions net stupid results."

He sat up and glanced nervously toward the window. After a moment of silence, the voice spoke again.

"I'm sorry. Were you expecting something more…comforting? Perhaps something along the lines of, 'You did the right thing. We do what is best for our children, regardless of the apparent lack of wisdom in our decision'?"

A hint of laughter followed and the owner of the voice materialized. As he had half-suspected, she was clad in a floor-length white gown…he surprised to see the daring cut of the neckline and the dark blonde hair that waved gracefully over her shoulders.

"You're not an angel, are you?"

This time, the amusement was more evident as the woman turned away from the window, her gray eyes glinting in the light of the crescent moon. "I can be whatever you want me to be, Tom."


	2. One

**A/N: **Not sure if I want to stick with _First of May_ or go back to _Cornered_. Any input on the title is welcome!

* * *

**One**

Penny Garcia was sharing some merry banter with Derek Morgan when the gentleman stumbled out of the elevator. She stopped midsentence as she took in the cuts and bruises on his face and hands, but was only slightly mollified when she spied the visitor tag dangling off his battered clothes.

"Sugar?"

Morgan glanced up at Garcia, who nodded at their visitor. Derek swiveled in his chair, eyes widening as he saw the man's appearance.

"Can I help you?"

"I…I need to see Special Agent Prentiss."

His voice was so soft; Derek and Penny could barely hear it, even as they raced to keep him from collapsing. Once Morgan got his arm around the man's shoulder, Garcia tried again.

"Were you here to see someone?"

He nodded and swallowed hard. "Emily."

Derek frowned. "Emily's not here right now."

"Actually, Emily just got back," Prentiss said lightly as she stepped out of the elevator.

"We need you," Garcia murmured as she beckoned the special agent.

Emily's eyebrows shot toward her hairline, but she didn't truly react until she was standing beside Morgan.

"Mr. Benton!"

_

* * *

_

Derek slipped into the hall where Emily waited anxiously.

"He doesn't need to be seen by a doctor. I cleaned and bandaged his wounds and gave him something for the pain."

"Thank you, Derek."

Morgan smiled at Prentiss as he traded the first aid kit to his other hand, then nodded as he passed Hotch, who had just appeared.

"Mrs. Benton says that he's been gone for three days," the supervisory special agent announced. "She didn't call the local law enforcement because he has claimed to have been going on a lot of business trips lately."

"Does she suspect cheating?"

"It wasn't my place to ask," he replied, ignoring Emily's frown. "An abusive mistress would explain the injuries, however."

oOoOoOo

"I didn't want to tell her those lies. I didn't want to cheat. But I've had no choice."

"How so?"

"She controls what I say. She controls what I do. That's why She was able to keep me for so long."

Emily tilted her head, curious. "'She' who?"

Tom looked slightly baffled. "She told me, once, but She made me swear never to repeat it unless She instructed me to."

He sighed and looked over her shoulder. Hotchner watched Prentiss watch their guest for a moment before he stepped forward to murmur in her ear.

"It sounds like he's hiding an affair."

"He'd never do that."

Before Emily could explain her reasoning, Benton said,

"Ananke."

Emily's head snapped forward. "Pardon me?"

"She said Her name was Ananke." He met the special agent's gaze again. "When She found me, it sounded like she was from America. But every time after that, She's sounded British, and occasionally, Dutch."

"Like she was born in the Netherlands, but has spent a lot of time in England," Hotch supplied.

"If she was ever 'born' at all."

"What do you mean?" Prentiss questioned.

"I'm not even sure She exists," Tom confessed. "She controls me so effortlessly…and She never really _leaves_. She just…"

"Dematerializes?" Hotchner finished.

"Exactly."

"Special Agent Prentiss, may I speak with you in the hall?"

oOoOoOo

"It sounds like he has post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Doesn't that usually involve flashbacks?"

"And seeing things that aren't there," Hotch added.

"How would he have gotten that?"

"When you turned in that report on Matthew Benton's death, you said that his father was present for the exorcism."

"That's what Mr. Benton said," Emily agreed.

"Assisting at an exorcism can be a shock to anyone's system."

"I see no harm in investigating whether Ananke is real."

"Except _I'm_ the one who gets his rear end chewed if the Assistant Director doesn't like what's going on!"

Prentiss put her hand on the latch. Hotchner put his hand on her shoulder.

"If you want to pursue this, do it on your own time"

* * *

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to you go 'round in circles all day!"

"As the supervisory special agent, aren't you supposed to assist in mediating any arguments?" Rossi gently prodded.

Hotchner tried not to let the disdain reach his noise, which was threatening to crinkle. After ninety minutes, the team had yet to reach a conclusion. Prentiss had gone back into the room and heard _quite_ an interesting story from Tom, but Hotch was still ready to dub the whole thing PTSD and conveniently "forget" to call him back. Rossi, on the other hand, hand taken Emily's side once again. Morgan seemed to be leaning toward yes, Reid toward no; J.J. was keen to stay out of the entire discussion, while Garcia was ready to follow the team, regardless of the final decision.

"As _fascinating_ as Mr. Benton's story may be, I have work to do," Hotchner replied. "I've already told Prentiss that she is to pursue this 'case' in her own time—I expect the rest of you to do the same."

A soft knock caused Garcia to jump, but it was J.J. who answered the door. A young woman fresh out of the Academy, Special Agent Wilson, stuck her head around and hurriedly conferred with J.J. in low tones. When Rachel was gone, J.J. shot Hotch a dismayed look.

"One of the Bentons with another captivating story?"

"Trouble down corridor 34C."

oOoOoOo

Corridor 34C was affectionately known as the "Dust Mill"—where electronics had their final resting place, seldom-restocked office supplies lurked and spare chairs congregated to talk of old times. It was lucky, then, that one of the receptionists had needed an ancient relic, or Supervisory Special Agent Alexander might never have been found.

"I was just coming back from the bathroom when I heard her scream." Special Agent Wilson indicated an analyst Garcia sometimes ate lunch with. "I don't know if the SSA is still alive. I didn't want to touch her unless there was another SSA on hand."

Hotch didn't compliment the agent for her prudence, but pushed through the crowd. Alissa Alexander had been bound, naked, to a slowly rotating wheel at the far end of the corridor and flogged several times. He reached out and cautiously took her pulse.

"She's still with us."

"They must have sedated her pretty heavily," Morgan said as he slipped to the front of the group. "Otherwise, someone would have heard her scream."

"'The game has only just begun'," Reid quoted from Alissa's chest.

"Nice shade of purple," Penny said, almost admiringly.

Hotchner turned to David and Emily. "You two have been pretty quiet."

The special agents glanced at each other.

"We think we know who did this," Rossi replied.

"We're just wondering if you feel the same," Prentiss amended.

* * *

**A/N:** I originally had Hotch saying "Special Agent in Charge", but I remembered that the BAU is based at FBI headquarters in Quantico. It is likely that Hotch reports to one of the Assistant Directors and not an SAiC.


	3. Two

**Two**

Her fingers trailed softly up his chest, around the curve of his chin and feathered across his cheek before she leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He jumped, but she put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Every time I let you go, every time I let you escape, it is _so_ easy to get you back," Ananke murmured. "I keep hoping you'll make it harder, an actual challenge this time…but it's always the same…"

She had straightened when he flinched, but she leaned over once again and fairly purred.

"You disappoint me, Tommy Boy. Why do you do that? You know it's not safe!"

Ananke dug her nails into his bare shoulder until he cried out.

"Running away is one thing. I don't mind the thrill of the chase. But then you got the FBI involved."

She waited to see if he might flinch or reach in any way and when he didn't, she smiled.

"No, I'm not offended," Ananke continued, bending down to caress his wrists. "New playmates keep things…interesting."

The caress had turned into the unbuckling of his restraints, so that Tom was free in a few moments. The young woman carefully helped him to his feet and he leaned heavily on her shoulder as she guided him to a bed that was just big enough for the two of them.

"I find it adorable that you still think I might be a dream. Perhaps I ought to convince you that I'm a little more…solid?"

Ananke straddled her prisoner and removed his blindfold; watched him rest peacefully. It had taken quite a while for her to perfect her loss-of-consciousness technique and when Tom initially responded to stimulus, Ananke was concerned. But now there was no question that he was gone.

She smiled, stroked his cheek and whispered his name. After a moment, she added,

"Awake and breathe!"

oOoOoOo

Thomas Benton gasped like a drowning man, his eyes fluttering open. His glasses didn't seem to be nearby, but he had little doubt that it was not Andrea unbuttoning his trousers…

* * *

"Next time you have doubts, Hotchner, come see me."

"Rue—"

"That's Assistant Director Graveolens to you!" his supervisor sniffed.

"Assistant Director Graveolens," Aaron began again. "This gentleman has a history of post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Since when? Yesterday?"

"He witnessed his son's exorcism."

"Just knowing that makes you an expert on his mental health?"

Hotchner didn't answer.

"So your apparent conviction that Mr. Benton suffers from poor mental health causes you to disbelieve that there might be a connection between his unknown subject and what happened to Supervisory Special Agent Alexander?"

"I have yet to see any evidence indicating the two are related," Hotchner said stiffly.

"Get your head out of the sand!" Rue snapped. "You should consider _all_ evidence, no matter how unlikely or fantastic. Special Agents Prentiss and Rossi shouldn't have had to go over your head on something as simple as an unknown subject!"

He glowered silently.

"This is officially an open case. Send one of your _unbiased_ agents back to Georgetown and re-interview the Bentons. Do whatever you need to get this woman off the streets and out of the picture!"

* * *

Despite their apparent lead, the BAU was sidelined for a day and a half when Assistant Director Graveolens insisted that they be interrogated for the Alexander case. Five internal affairs officers had been assigned to interview the more than three hundred people employed in the building at the time of the attack and the sessions quite often went far into the night. The team's appointments had been scheduled for random times over a three day period, which meant that by the time everyone caught up on their sleep and reconvened in the conference room, it had been nearly three days since Emily had spoken with Tom.

"Mrs. Benton had only returned from the airport about ten minutes before my arrival," David reported. "She said that she doesn't know how long her husband's trip will take and that they could end up moving if it's successful."

"Shouldn't Mr. Benton be thinking about retirement?" Reid wondered aloud. "The Bentons seem pretty well off and he's what? Sixty-six?"

Prentiss frowned. "_Fifty-_six. And very ambitious. Since Matthew and I were children, if not earlier."

Garcia appeared at that moment, laptop in hand. "I had to call in a few favors, but I got the passenger manifest. You're not going to like it, though."

"Oh?" Rossi asked.

She placed the laptop on the table. "Thomas Benton checked his luggage at the airline counter in the lobby, but failed to check in at the gate."

"That's not uncommon," Hotch interjected as he slipped in behind her. "E-ticketing means that he would have gotten his boarding passes at the counter."

Rossi was about to mention the possibility that Tom had been captured after passing through security, but Hotchner interrupted him.

"Where's Morgan?"

oOoOoOo

Derek wasn't into pantsuits, as a rule, but this black ensemble was tailored to hug his date's every curve and give subtle suggestions about what he might find underneath. Her makeup was perfect, her eyes were sparkling…the only turn-off was the fact that she wore her shining blonde hair in two short, tight French braids. _But then_, he reminded himself with a smile. _It won't matter at the end of the night, will it?_

"Something wrong?" he asked aloud.

"It's not very often they vary their menu from location to location. All I needed was a quick glance to reassure me and a peek at the specials. My decision remains unchanged."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd been so many times before."

"Good food, good people." She flashed him the smile he'd come to adore just as his FBI-issued Blackberry rang.

"I'm sorry," Morgan said, without glancing at the screen. I have to take this."

oOoOoOo

"At this time of day?"

J.J. glanced at her watch. "It's 5:45."

Hotch frowned and gestured for her to hand over the phone.

"How long have you had this planned?" he demanded.

"Couple of weeks."

"You didn't cancel when Assistant Director Graveolens opened the case?"

"I needed a break!" Morgan protested. "Besides, she's leaving for The Hague in a couple of days. This is the only time she had!"

oOoOoOo

"Sorry. My supervisor was annoyed because I had a date and he didn't."

She gave him a tiny laugh as she dug into the salad that had been delivered in his absence. "Is that the _real_ reason?"

"No, but it's just as good as any!"

"Would you like a recommendation?"

Morgan glanced up at his date as if he wasn't sure what she meant.

"Would you prefer steak, poultry, pasta or pizza?"

"We're at an Italian restaurant."

"Pasta. Right." She grinned. "The mezzaluna is one of my favorites. That's fourteen half moon-shaped raviolis stuffed with chicken, spinach and three kinds of cheese and cooked in a tomato cream sauce.

"My other favorite would be what I'm having tonight, the Pasta Carrabba. That's standard Fettuccine Alfredo, cooked with mushrooms and peas and topped with grilled chicken."

"The last time you were here…did you actually _try_ the food or did you just eat the menu?"

The young woman threw back her head and laughed. "I paid for my textbooks by hosting at a Carrabba's about a half hour away from campus and they made sure we knew the menu _very _well.

At last, their server returned to retrieve the empty plate and take Morgan's order. When she disappeared, his date leaned over and took his hand.

"Shall we get coffee after this?"

* * *

**Author's Notes**

1. I know I made it sound like Tom knew that he was being raped in the last chapter ("I didn't want to cheat"), but it was only a sneaking suspicion. The beginning of this chapter is the first time he's been completely conscious for the act.

2. A.D. Graveolens's name is a joke on the fact that I'm studying herbalism at the moment. _Ruta graveolens_ is the Latin name for Rue. (Rue is female, by the way.)

3. Reid's comment on Tom retiring is me razzing on the fact that James Remar suddenly looks ten years older in the guise of Tom. **YUCK!**

4A._ I_ used to host at Carrabba's, so I put my words into Ananke's mouth. ^_^ (Except Ananke leaves the mushrooms in her Pasta Carrabba and I _hate_ 'shrooms!)

4B. Yes, there _is_ a location near Quantico—eight miles away in Woodbridge.


	4. Three

Three

"I want a profile," Aaron announced the next morning.

"The only person that has that information is Thomas Benton," Rossi replied.

"Then we rescue him and get it!" Emily interjected. "We've been putting that off for too long, anyway!"

"It's not going to be _that_ easy," Spencer reminded the team. "Prentiss, didn't you say that Ananke dealt in mind control?"

"And illusions. And Heaven knows what else she does to achieve her ends."

"Then we have to treat this gently," Reid reasoned. "If she's completely unpredictable, she could easily throw us off the trail."

"If we can find the trail in the first place," J.J. amended.

"Hey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news…" Garcia suddenly said from the doorway. "But I am."

The team looked up as one.

"Morgan's date didn't go so well," she continued. "He was found by a jogger at 6:30 this morning. In a gutter."

Everyone winced sympathetically. Everyone, that is, except Hotchner.

"He's in the hospital for tests and then the twenty-four hour observation period begins immediately following." Seeing Aaron's stony demeanor, Garcia dropped the message on the conference room table and added, "Just thought you ought to know…"

When Hotch had sufficiently glared her out of the room, he turned back to the team.

"There's our profile."

* * *

"Externally, there doesn't seem to be much of a problem," the doctor explained. "A few lacerations and bruising in several places. Nothing to be concerned about. X-rays are clean and he has an MRI in about an hour. We hope to have the results from the rape kit and the toxicology screening back by this evening."

"Rape kit?!" Reid hissed in J.J.'s ear.

She shrugged and murmured, "They do what they have to."

oOoOoOo

Unable to convince any of his inferiors to run the errand for him, Hotch disappeared to get coffee shortly after they entered Morgan's room.

"Is it me or is he extremely demanding all of a sudden?"

"Don't take it personally, Derek," David reassured.

"He still thinks Tom Benton is mentally ill," Emily added. "Hotch is probably upset that A.D. Graveolens rebuked him and opened a case immediately afterward."

Morgan brightened at the news of a fresh case, especially when Spencer added,

"Fortunately, he doesn't have the power to gainsay her."

Derek leaned back into his pillows. "Garcia couldn't come?"

"Hotch has her calling in every favor she has," J.J. explained. "He'd have her following every lead, too—"

"If there were any to follow," Reid interrupted, almost glumly.

"That's why Hotch was so eager to visit you," Prentiss added. "Not because he was being a caring supervisor, but because he's been pushing for a profile."

No one had time to react to Emily's apparent bitterness, as Hotchner returned just then.

"Don't all stop talking at once!"

Everyone stared at Hotch just long enough to give him the idea that he couldn't _pay_ them to resume their previous conversation; then all turned back to Morgan as if he had suddenly done something interesting.

"What happened last night?" Hotchner returned to his earlier line of questioning.

"I already told you."

"Humor me with details."

Morgan sighed. "She met me at the Carrabba's in Woodbridge."

"Did you get intoxicated?" Hotch interrupted.

"I had a few glasses of wine."

"What happened after dinner?"

"We went back to her place and had coffee."

"Did you have intercourse?"

"Probably."

"What kind of answer is 'probably'?!"

The team had begun to slip out, but Hotch caught sight of Emily and stopped her.

"You stay. This started with your friend."

* * *

"How's Hotch?"

"Still on the war path," J.J. replied as she sat down next to Garcia.

"Hotchner seems uncharacteristically upset that he was asked to take this case," Spencer observed. "I believe it was Special Agent Prentiss that said it appeared that Hotchner believes Assistant Director Graveolens was wrong in turning Mr. Benton's problem into a case."

Garcia nodded. "Where is he now?"

"At the hospital. He retained Special Agent Prentiss to help him assemble the profile after reminding her that this all started with her friend."

"I have a few leads that I'd like you guys to take a look at…"

* * *

**A/N: **I'll be the first to admit that that wasn't the best chapter, but I didn't have a whole lot of ideas and the old chapter that I was modeling it from wasn't very good, either.

I promise that I have some…_interesting_…ideas for chapter four, however; and chapter five came to me so clearly the other night that I could see the action as if I were xxxxx talking to xxx on the street! (I'll let you guess whom I mean by the number of x's. *wink*)


	5. Four

**Four**

Instead of being invited in, a few pairs of hands grabbed her bodily and dragged her inside. One of the pairs held Emily still, while another blindfolded her so tightly that her eyes began to ache. There was a pause, as if her captors were having a silence conference on whether to gag her; but she was dragged off just as suddenly.

After being shunted along for quite a length of time, Emily found herself being thrown to the floor. Before she could react, however, a door slammed behind her; the sounds of a clicking deadbolt and a bar being shot home her only company in the darkness. Emily sat silently for a few minutes, listening for other auditory clues and calling on the more obscure parts of her training to help her decide what to do next. When she was sure no one was coming, the special agent pulled off her blindfold…and was unsurprised to find that the room was pitch black.

"Get up!" an electronic voice ordered.

As if to emphasize its point, a small overhead light flashed on in the center of the room. A stool sat alone in the pool of light, but Emily said nothing, trying her best not to incur the wrath of the voice. She didn't tolerate this for long, however.

"What do you want from me?"

There was another lengthy pause before the voice said, "Watch."

Hydraulics hissed and another light turned on in front of her, illuminating what appeared to be a large showcase. One glance was all it took for Emily to realize that the "trophy" on display was Andrea Benton.

"**NO!**" Emily shrieked, lunging for the front of the display. "Let her _go!_"

The plexiglas—or whatever it was—rebuffed her firmly, swiftly throwing her to the floor.

"Control yourself, Special Agent Prentiss."

Emily glanced back at the case just in time to see Andrea stop twitching. The older woman had been stripped and tied to a steel table that stood in the upright position. A metal collar had been fastened to her neck and as Emily drew closer, she saw the glinting tines place directly under Andrea's chin. If the other woman screamed, or even spoke, the razor-sharp points would drive themselves through her jaw. Emily's only relief was that Andrea appeared to be unconscious.

"What do you—" Emily trailed off as she noticed Andrea twitching again. The movement stopped less than sixty seconds later.

"You didn't…?"

Andrea twitched again and Emily's eyebrows shot up. She had heard about it from a friend, but never thought an unsub would use it.

If she was correct, Andrea's captors had inserted a device into her vagina that vibrated in response to nearby sounds. Emily's friend had told her that the receiver didn't work very well beyond twenty feet, but it appeared that the unsub had rigged a sensitive microphone to the unit, one that would pick up the slightest whisper from Emily. If she went into a tirade, the special agent could give her late friend's mother an orgasm—a thought that made Prentiss cringe.

She watched a moment longer, half torn between willing Andrea to open her eyes and praying that she would remain unconscious. Finally, Emily looked away, worried that if she kept watching, a shadowy figure would appear with more instruments of sexual torture.

As if in response to her thoughts, a clatter arose, accompanied by the sound of more hissing hydraulics. Although she was tempted, the special agent kept her eyes turned firmly toward the wall.

"Not watching only makes it worse."

The warning sent chills down Emily's spine, causing an involuntary glance in the direction of the case. Andrea had been rolled to the rear of the display and thought it was hard to tell in the shadows, it appeared that the woman had begun to convulse harder. In her place was a second table, holding a rather battered figure that Emily suspected might be Tom. As if his present damages weren't enough, the gentleman had patches strategically place around his body, along with clamps on his nipples and rigid bands around his genitals. Wires streamed off his body, racing toward the edge of the table and tunneling into the shadows like so many worms.

_He doesn't seem to be twitching much_, Emily thought.

An eerie sort of quiet settled on the room, interrupted by an occasional convulsion from the back of the display. As Prentiss watched, however, a screen placed partway between the two victims flickered to life. Stationed in the shadows, it was hard to see at first, but as the monitor warmed up, Emily realized that the grainy video was actually footage of Matt's exorcism.

She watched for a moment, transfixed…until the images finally registered. The special agent cried out and scuttled toward the wall, colliding in her blind haste and landing squarely on her rear. Emily sobbed dry tears against the comforting strength of the wall, but a rhythmic thump drew attention toward the case, where it appeared that Tom was nearly seizing.

_That horrible woman!_ Emily's voice roared inside her mind. _I—_

Her friend's father thrashed harder and she began to feel real tears pricking her eyes.

_**Calm down!**_ her conscience ordered. _**Remember what you learned at the academy!**_

Emily looked away and forced herself to take a deep breath. The convulsions subsided and she chanced a look over her shoulder; catching sight of Matthew's video on what appeared to be an endless loop. Prentiss felt her ire raise before she tore her eyes from the scene, realizing that Tom had begun to shake again.

_**RELAX!**_ her conscience demanded.

She threw herself into a corner and closed her eyes; forced herself not to react, the tears to stop coming.

_**Don't you see what's going on?**_ her conscience asked. _**Every time you have a negative thought about Ananke, every time you become over-emotional, she cranks up the voltage!**_

"So little Miss Sunshine thinks she has to get involved in _everything_, hmm?" Ananke's voice suddenly rang from every corner of the room. "Perhaps you should get involved in _this!_"

Prentiss felt a harsh tug on both arms and was startled to realize that she was being dragged to her feet. When Emily was standing once more, she looked toward the ceiling and gasped. Somehow, in the course of her cowering, steel cables had been used to string her up like a marionette—complete with a collar that had been mysteriously padlocked around her neck.

* * *

At this distance, Ananke couldn't read minds; but judging by the live feed, one didn't need to be telepathic to figure out what was going on with Special Agent Prentiss.

"You're lucky I haven't attempted to alter _you_ in that fashion," the terrorist said silkily. She turned toward her prisoner. "But that can be arranged."

The real Tom Benton lay spread-eagle on a metal table. He had been allowed to stay awake for a few hours in order to watch her play with his son's friend, but his eyes had begun to glaze over. Ananke frowned, wondering if he hadn't simply fallen asleep on her.

"_Tommy!_" she cooed in a near-babyish voice. "Wake up, darling! You're missing the best part."

No response from the firmly gagged man.

"Ah," Ananke purred, switching to Dutch. "It seems we have need of fresh entertainment."

oOoOoOo

Tom Benton was beginning to _hate_ being jarred awake…especially since it usually meant that he was being sexually pleasured.


	6. Five

**A/N: **Sorry for taking so long…my novel loves me!

But a review at last! Thank you, Jennifer, for leaving a remark…the last few chapters have been a little rough to write, so your encouragement was a welcome sight.

* * *

**Five**

Almost a month passed before Emily Prentiss was allowed to return to work. When questioned, she could only vaguely remember what had transpired, and often found that she couldn't recall how long it had been before she was rescued…or whether she had simply been ejected from captivity, much in the manner of Special Agent Morgan.

Now, Prentiss was only assigned to desk duty, shuffling paperwork and organizing reports like clockwork. Occasionally, one or more of her former teammates would drop by, but their answers were always the same—the attacks had yet to present any predictable pattern and clues indicating Thomas Benton's whereabouts had yet to be found. Against both Hotchner and Rossi's wishes, Emily had visited Andrea Benton twice; but the poor woman had already titled herself a widow.

Nine days after Emily returned to work, however, she discovered that things weren't quite as they seemed.

* * *

It all started with an afternoon walk.

Usually, Special Agent Prentiss kept to the grounds of FBI headquarters, preferring to avail herself of the complex's many sidewalks for fifteen or twenty minutes in the middle of the afternoon before making that last stretch until five-thirty. Today, however, there were errands to run and Emily quickly found herself in the heart of Quantico.

oOoOoOo

She nearly missed him. Even when she looked again, she almost took him for someone else.

He'd been dressed in dark blue denims and a royal blue polo shirt; his sandy brown hair feathered over his right eye like a rebellious teenager. Perhaps the most striking difference were his glasses—gone were the horn-rims that made him look like a shop teacher from the sixties, replaced by a pair of gold wire-rims that made him look adorably intellectual. Those changes, combined with the well-defined arms peeking out of his sleeves, made Emily wonder if she wasn't looking at another man entirely.

"Tom?" Prentiss asked incredulously.

The light changed and the gentleman crossed the street.

"Mr. Benton?" she called again.

The gentleman sped up and Emily nearly had to jog to follow.

_I _have_ to get him to safety!_ she thought.

The mysterious stranger strode on for two more blocks before slipping into a Catholic church Prentiss had never noticed before. Quickening her pace, Emily was relieved to see her quarry slide into the confessional. Saying a little prayer for forgiveness, she looked both ways before stepping into the box reserved for the priest.

"You shouldn't be here," he said in a voice nearly unrecognizable.

"I had to know if you were okay."

"She has spies everywhere."

"I'll make it quick."

"If you want to know where I've been, I can't tell you." There was a noise as he slid back to lean against the wall. "She releases me in various places, leaves and has one of her allies tie me up and take me back a few hours later. This is the first I've seen Quantico in weeks."

"You look good," Emily said idly, thinking back to her time in captivity.

"If you're thinking of the video, that wasn't me."

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Ananke had me locked up in another location, watching a secure feed as it happened." Tom paused. When he spoke again, there was a note of amusement in his voice. "She left me conscious for the whole thing, then performed Tantric massage afterward."

"I think you're coming down with Stockholm syndrome."

There was a sober silence.

"I still love Andrea. I think about her every day; wish I could call her," he said. "But when I think about what happened to you, to your friend, to so many others, I consider myself lucky."

"You can go home. Right now. I can call for backup and have you in Mrs. Benton's arms in _hours_."

"Don't get yourself killed!" Tom snapped. "They're all watching. If they see me with you or with _anyone_ who works in law enforcement, that will be the end. She'll stop torturing and start killing—and you'll be the first!"

Prentiss seriously doubted that anyone as clever as Ananke would be dumb enough to try to kill an FBI agent, but she held her tongue.

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait her out," he said simply. "She's bound to get bored sometime. One day, I'll escape and she'll never make me come back."

Quiet lingered for a moment.

"It's time for me to go." Tom got to his feet. "Promise me one thing, Emily. Don't do anything rash. I can take care of myself."

Prentiss opened the door, intending to hug him, but Tom was already gone. The agent hurried toward the main doors, arriving on the steps just in time to see a black Lincoln stop beside her friend's father, half a block away. A statuesque woman slipped out and Tom obediently turned around, presenting his wrists for cuffing. Once bound, the woman removed his glasses and helped him into the car. Emily was tempted to call out, but found her tongue frozen as the woman dropped into the left side and the car glided away from the curb.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

1. Tom _desperately_ needed a makeover, so I gave it to him. ^_^ | He has one more coming by the end of the story, but it's not as drastic.

2. That "shop teacher from the sixties" comment isn't mine—it's how Jack Coleman feels about Noah Bennett's glasses (aka HRG on _Heroes_).


	7. Six

**Confession I: **It's much more fun to write about what's happening to Tom than it is to write the torture scenes. ^_^

**Confession II: **I don't know if J.J. is actually the NPR sort…that's what I heard in my head, so that's what I wrote down.

* * *

**Six**

"How could you let him get away?" Hotchner railed.

"It was more of a threat to the public to rescue Mr. Benton than it was to let him go."

"_Please_ tell me you followed him."

"On foot?" Prentiss asked incredulously. "I chased Mr. Benton into the church while I was out on my afternoon walk! Even if I _had_ driven over there, the Lincoln was surrounded by two white vans and several motorcyclists within seconds of pulling into traffic."

Hotch regarded her impassively.

"More of Ananke's allies?" Emily prompted, referring to the other vehicles. "Armed to the teeth?"

"I don't suppose you got any of the license plates?"

"Do I look like I keep paper and pen in my pocket at all times?"

"Why didn't you call for backup?"

"I wasn't sure I was tracking Tom Benton," she replied. "Ananke has given him a makeover and she's probably not finished. Plus, I wasn't going to give up the chance to get valuable information from Tom, knowing that Ananke's friends could barge in at any minute."

"How do you plan to explain to Mrs. Benton that you had her husband in your grasp and you _willingly_ let him be re-kidnapped?"

"Are you planning to visit her today?"

"No."

"Is anyone scheduled to visit her within the next few weeks?"

"No."

"Then I don't see any reason why we should tell her." Emily relaxed a little. "If she's already considering herself a widow, then we'll leave her to her own devices. If another family member appears and asks for a status update, we'll tell them the same thing we tell the media—we're trying our best, but so far, Mr. Benton hasn't been located."

"You're incorrigible."

* * *

"Good morning, Alexandria. The time is seven thirty."

The opening chimes of NPR sounded as Jennifer rolled over and turned off her alarm. She sighed when she thought of the day ahead. Loads of phone calls had been coming in since the disappearance of Tom Benton and they had scarcely eased up. At first, J.J. was thrilled by the change in her normal routine; but by this point, she seriously wished for the days where she gave an occasional press conference and then sat in on the team's meetings.

The team. Derek had been released from the hospital only a few days before Emily's kidnapping, which had been a nightmare in itself. Numerous press conferences, numberless interviews and yet _another _round with the internal affairs people had ensued. Then there was the fiasco with a newspaper in Richmond that swore they had a recording of Prentiss' torture session and would post it on their website, if the Bureau didn't admit that they were screwing up the Benton investigation and pay them an undisclosed sum under the table. At least no one had come forward claiming to have a DVD with Benton begging for mercy—that would have been too much.

Jennifer sighed even more heavily than before and headed for the bathroom. Where she promptly screamed.

Her neatly plucked brows had somehow merged into a unibrow overnight, but the screaming had actually been induced by the forest of hair Jennifer found on her underarm when she reached up to touch her furry brow. Her arms were only matched by the meadow on each leg and the jungle she suspected 'round her privates. Grabbing the counter, Jennifer took several deep breaths before attempting to turn on the shower. It might make her late, but the special agent was determined to shave everything off—her wax reservoir would take too long to heat and any bottles of depilatory that lurked under the sink were probably three years out of date.

It was only when Jennifer went to fit a new blade on her razor that she noticed the acne on her face—especially the blemishes on her forehead that appeared to spell "bitch".

* * *

"I've got a message!"

"I _have_ a message," Reid corrected.

Penny shot him a look that clearly said, _shut up, brainiac_. "It's from J.J."

"Where _is_ J.J.?" Derek glanced at his watch. "It's not like her to be this late."

"Or does the fact that you're nearly dancing have anything to do with it?" asked Rossi.

The technician realized that she was a little too excited for the gravity of the situation and tried to calm down. "J.J. won't be coming in today. She's in the hospital."

"What? Why?" Hotchner demanded.

"Ananke," Prentiss concluded.

"Our unsub got _J.J._?" Reid seemed unusually shocked.

"She's not hurt!" Penny hastened to add. "In fact, the important part is that she's in the hospital and _not_ being held by Ananke."

Garcia gestured for the agents to sit down and related J.J.'s story. When she finished, everyone was wide-eyed.

"So let me get this straight," said Morgan. "She's in the hospital for some unruly _hair_?"

"Hair that instantaneously grew back," Penny reminded him. "I also called in a favor at the hospital…it seems she was bleeding pretty heavily when the paramedics found her. At first, they thought it was just her period left untended, but now they're thinking uterine fibroids or maybe even endometriosis."

"Hopefully not cancer," Rossi amended.

"What about the acne?" asked Reid.

"The dermatologist said it was the worst he'd ever seen," Penny replied. "He started J.J. on standard acne medication while he went back to his office to research her options."

"Did she say anything about Benton?" Hotch queried.

"She was pretty out of it when I talked to her," said Garcia. "I think they probably sedated her once they saw how hysterical she was."

Silence hung over the room as the agents marveled over their colleague's beauty nightmare.

"This _can't _go on!" Emily announced after a while.

"How do we know this is even Ananke?" asked Morgan.

"It certainly seems to be outside her M.O.," said Reid.

"Not if her M.O. is torture," Emily argued. "It certainly seems to fit her scope of power."

"Is anyone checking into this?" Rossi asked.

"I don't think so," Penny replied. "I haven't gotten wind of any of the L.E.O.s working on it."

"I'll put the word out."

"How to you explain to the CSIs that they're looking for evidence of who caused a beauty disaster?" Hotchner asked David's retreating back.

"Same way they'd investigate any other crime scene."

* * *

**A/N: **L.E.O. is a term I've picked up from _NCIS_ (I may have heard it on _Dexter_, too). It means "law enforcement officer". (I think!)


	8. Seven

**A/N: **I don't want to wait until chapter nine to say this (since the team won't be appearing in chapter eight)—Emily returns to regular BAU duty a week or so after the end of this chapter.

Thank you to A.C. for all her reviews—it was her concern that ensured I mentioned that Emily isn't _permanently_ out of the BAU.

* * *

Seven_  
Several Days Later_

"Are you in danger?"

"No."

"Be honest with me, Mama."

Garcia frowned at Morgan. He'd never questioned her honesty before.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

She was only gone for a moment.

"A first aid kit?"

"Here's the note that came with it." Penny handed him an evidence bag containing a piece of violet stationary.

"'Take care of your family.' What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "We're like family, aren't we? My thought is if Ananke has given me the means to take care of you," she waved the kit. "Symbolic as it may be, that she doesn't intend to make me suffer."

Morgan weighed the bag thoughtfully, but was prevented from saying anything by the appearance of Hotchner.

"Conference room, you two. _Now_."

Penny shot Morgan a wry smile. "I don't know if I should feel special or just annoyed."

* * *

"The latest report from the hospital indicates that J.J. will be out in two days," Hotch announced. "Provided that there is no regression in her condition."

The group made approving noises through which he waited somewhat impatiently.

"I called you in here because of this." Hotchner held up an evidence bag with a DVD inside. "This is reputedly from Ananke. We are the first viewers—I only let Evidence hold onto it long enough to dust for prints."

Penny unconsciously moved toward Morgan as Hotch readied the DVD player; whole Prentiss discovered that she was suddenly sitting closer to both Reid and Rossi.

_The first figure to come into the frame seemed to have been positively _poured _into black latex. She—for the creature clearly sported breasts—worse soft black boots that flowed gently upward toward what appeared to be a hooded catsuit. Glossy black-gloved hands tugged at something off-camera, causing the viewer's eye to drift toward the black leather cuffs at the creature's wrists. The face was obscured by a black latex hood, the woman's dark eyes peering balefully over an unusually large white ballgag._

"That's not Ananke," Emily announced.

The rest of the agents quickly shushed her, as something else had come into the picture.

_With a large heave, the figure dragged something on a leash front and center. When she attached the leash to a ring in the floor, she revealed a second figure, from whose head she quickly removed something indistinguishable. The woman stepped back, revealing Tom Benton, from whose throat she had removed a long, phallus-shaped gag._

"If that thing was any bigger, he would have choked!"

"Emily," Hotchner said in a tone of warning as he stopped the DVD. "If you cannot stay quiet, I will remove you from this investigation!"

Prentiss apologized and Hotch glared at her for two full minutes before pressing the play button.

_He sat quietly for a moment, attempting to catch his breath; until the woman tapped his rear with a riding crop._

_Tom, who had been resting on his haunches, sat up into a full kneeling position and began relaying a message in what sounded like Dutch. His captor waited with surprising patience while he stumbled through the foreign words, then indicated that he should sit cross-legged when he was finished. The woman stepped away again and the camera pulled back to take in the rest of the scene._

_A second prisoner knelt on Tom's left, dressed in the same simple black clothes; a large cloth sack draped over his or her head. Their captor waited for several minutes before moving behind the mystery prisoner, catching her target's head easily as she did so. The woman tugged viciously on the sack so that the prisoner was struggling for air, then eyed the camera for a moment before calmly slitting the unfortunate creature's throat._

_An unholy scream rent the air and Tom Benton skittered as far away as the chain would allow, while the other prisoner's body dropped in what seemed like slow motion. Shockingly, Tom reached up and clutched the latex thigh of his captor, who put a protective arm around him seconds before the screen went black._

"That's not Ananke," Prentiss repeated.

"Why do you think that?" asked Rossi.

"Ananke is happiest when she's showing off her powers," Emily explained. "She likes being the dominant one."

"Dominatrices don't allow themselves to be cuffed and collared," Reid added.

Penny was about to rib him for knowing about such an unusual lifestyle when she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Emergency, Hotchner." Supervisory Special Agent Alexander loomed in the doorway, quite recovered from her ordeal several months before.

"What kind of emergency?"

"That DVD you have? Every visual media outlet for twenty miles is claiming to have a copy."

The other agents expressed their surprise.

"None of them seem very keen on knowing what it was that Benton was saying," Alissa said, quietly avoiding how she knew what the DVD contained. "But they're all positive that showing the other prisoner's death is great television. That's why A.D. Graveolens wants to see you."

"Keep working on this," Hotch ordered as he headed for the door. "Rossi's in charge."

"So we're pretty sure that Ananke wouldn't suffer the indignity of bondage gear—at least not on video," said David, expertly steering the conversation toward where they had left off. "What else do we know?"

"Why do you think that that wasn't Benton?" asked Morgan.

"He wouldn't cling to his captor like that," Emily said. "He loves Andrea too much."

"You said that you suspected him of Stockholm syndrome," Derek countered.

"I believe you also said that Mrs. Benton has given him up for dead," Reid added.

"Any ideas on who the victim might be?" Rossi asked.

Garcia took her cue. "I'll search the database for everyone reported missing since the death of Matthew Benton."

"That would be an exercise in futility," remarked Reid. "She could have kidnapped this person long before she started in on Mr. Benton."

"She also could have brought someone over from the Netherlands and used her powers to smooth over the situation with Customs and Border Protection," said Morgan.

David considered this for a few minutes. "Emily, I don't think I've heard the entire story of your meeting with Mr. Benton. Would you mind telling it again?"

Prentiss told the group exactly what she had told Hotchner a few days before, leaving everyone looking thoughtful—especially Rossi.

"Any ideas on why Ananke might let Mr. Benton roam freely?"

"She enjoys the thrill of the chase?" Garcia offered.

"Ananke seems to like Mr. Benton to some degree," Spencer said. "Did he say anything about being tormented further?"

Emily shook her head.

"So we can probably assume that Ananke has ceased torturing Mr. Benton extensively."

"Except he didn't say anything to allow us to take the idea of constant rape out of the picture," Prentiss amended.

"Right. She also shows that she cares at least _somewhat_ for his well being by allowing these constitutionals."

"If we were to believe that the latex figure in the video was Ananke, that would explain the protective gesture," said Morgan.

"Right."

"So what's our plan?" David prompted.

"We watch. And wait."


	9. Eight

**A/N:** If you're going to nitpick, don't bother leaving a review…I've already had quite enough on this story alone.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Tom was apprehensive as he watched Ananke pace. Although he did not want to admit it, his captor looked radiant—her golden blonde hair had been pulled into a French twist, giving him a lovely view of her neck…and the bit of décolletage that peeked out of her gray velour gown. A part of him thought that he might be attracted to her—if she weren't so young. Or dangerous.

"I keep you here because I receive _great_ pleasure from torturing you," Ananke announced at last. "When you first arrived, I enjoyed…shall I say…'beating the ugly out of you'?"

She smirked and leaned over her desk. "That green sweater you came with? Currently unfit to line a bird's nest. And those horrid glasses of yours? We broke every pair we found in and around your home, car and office." Ananke chuckled and resumed her walk. "The only reason you were permitted those wire-rims is that the 'committee' is still out on whether contacts or corrective surgery would be more harrowing."

Tom hesitated at that declaration, then chose to appeal to her better nature.

"You are a stunning, powerful woman. An enchantress. You could have any man for a…consort…that you desire. Why me?"

Ananke met his gaze for a moment; smiled and sat at last. "I had to leave you for a while. When I was able to attend to you again, your injuries had healed, and…"

She bowed her head, her smile becoming a little more sensual. There was clearly no other answer than that.

Tom gave a small, annoyed sigh and looked away. "Once you saw me just as God made me, free from clothing and any signs of interference, you were…attracted."

"In so many words."

Even with his reaction, Ananke's expression didn't falter. She was tempted to allow him more questions, but it wasn't hard to infer where his mind was headed.

"I will keep you for as long as I desire your presence," she said as gently as possible.

"You're not afraid of the repercussions?"

"Repercussions?"

"Prison…the death sentence…" Tom stopped himself just short of an uncharacteristic shrug. "Hell."

Ananke's laughter was musical, almost to the point of eeriness.

"You think I'm afraid of your god? You think I am afraid of being exiled to a place that is _absent_ of your god?"

He looked confused.

"Have you never read your holy book? No where does it say that 'hell', as you call it, is fire and brimstone; indeed, they say it is the place furthest away from your god and his love.

"Where is your god now, Thomas?" she demanded, her voice taking a terrifying tone. "Why hasn't he saved you from months of agony at my hand? When you awake each day, you are once again at the brink of death; yet no one comes to save you!"

"No amount of depravity could make me honor you above my Lord and my God," he said quietly.

Ananke gave her prey a frosty look. "I did not grant you extensive liberty so that we could have theological discussions." The young woman strolled over to the door, having gotten to her feet during her tirade. "A guard will escort you back to your room."

Surprised at the direction their conversation had taken, he obediently rose and made to leave. A mysterious force blocked the exit, but Tom didn't ask her to remove it—a ferocious kiss was all it took to make Ananke drop her guard and clear the way.

* * *

"Forgive me, O Lord," he prayed. Tom stopped to gather his thoughts. It was times like these that he wished he still knew all the Latin he learned in school.

"I should not have stooped to the temptress's level—there was nothing wrong with politely asking her to _move_," he continued. "I should not have used flattery to discover why she made me her consort. I should be ashamed of myself. Clearly, I provide too much temptation to women who are not my wife."

His knees began to bother him just as he ran out of things to say; so Tom made a hasty gesture resembling the sign of the cross and began to rise.

_Is God _really_ on your side?_ asked a voice inside his mind.

Before he could rebuke the "demon" for interrupting his thoughts, Tom heard voices in the corridor and stilled.

"Stella is telling all the servants to stay clear of the west wing," said a voice that appeared to be male. "There are a bunch of masked and gowned people running in and out of The Lady's chamber and Stella doesn't want any non-essential personnel getting in the way."

"But they _always_ suit up after a doctor visit!" scoffed a second gentleman. "It's some strange tradition they had in place long before we arrived."

"Mmm…" the first said vaguely. "I heard a rumor from one of the maids that it's not the physician that the bursar regularly pays hush money."

He paused for effect.

"I heard that the bursar gave Dr. Schuler a sizable amount to make a house call—and to keep her mouth shut indefinitely."

"Dr. _Christa_ Schuler?" the other man exclaimed with a note of awe. "Isn't she the obstetrician that has become so popular with Capitol Hill?"

"And FBI staff who are in the family way," his partner agreed. "That's why such an exorbitant amount was required."

"But why would The Lady…?" There was silence as the second man came to the realization. "You _**have**_ to be kidding!"

"They _are_ only rumors."

"But who…?"

Tom unconsciously held his breath.

"That fundamentalist they picked up in…Georgetown? A few months ago."

There was a noise of disbelief.

"Hey, that's the scuttlebutt!"

The gentlemen began discussing whether Dr. Schuler would order a paternity test directly after delivery, but the conversation was quickly lost as they moved away down the corridor.

Tom leaned back and closed his eyes, failing to notice that he had landed in a well-worn chair of gray velvet. He was too busy with the whirl of thoughts in his mind to feel the material as he stood up and a wave of nausea quickly threw him to his bed.

"Fatherhood," he whispered. "I am not ready to become a father again…especially to a child conceived in an unholy union!"

_Don't let her abort it!_ his conscience added.

"No. No, of course not." Tom took his hand away from his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "She may be my captor, my supreme ruler—however temporary—but I _have_ to reason with her. She has to find adoptive parents quickly…"

Before Tom really knew what he was doing, he had rolled off the bed and found himself trying the doorknob. It didn't budge after the first few tries, leaving him to fiddle with it until he became aware of someone opening the door from the outside.

"I need to speak with An—with The Lady."

"The Lady has ordered Her retinue to leave Her in solitude until further notice," replied the guard. "Whatever you need to tell Her can wait until morning."

"I'm sick," he said at once, playing up the slowly fading nausea. "I need to see a doctor, or maybe a nurse."

The woman frowned. "As a prisoner, I do not know if you are allowed medical attention that has not been pre-ordered by The Lady. I cannot leave my post, but I will speak to someone about your condition as soon as possible."

She shut the door without waiting for his response.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

1. The end of the confrontation scene originally called for Ananke to stop Tom from leaving, kiss him passionately and say, "This is not a dream." But since it ended with both irritated, I thought it would be great for Tom to give her an "angry kiss"—however much he might regret it later. ^_^

2. Tom went to Catholic school and had a least a little Latin every year until graduation.

3. Dr. Schuler was named after a girl I went to school with. Her name just popped into my head, so I went with it.

4. I confess that it's unlikely that the staff of a terrorist (whether foreign or domestic) would use the military term for gossip, but I couldn't help myself.


	10. Nine

**A/N:** I'm sorry to say that it took a bout of writer's block (on my novel) to get me here…but maybe you're not so sorry? ;)

**Character Note:** Two dead characters are mentioned/introduced in this chapter (not counting Gideon)—one is still dead, the other one is alive again just so I can kill him off. (Aren't I lovely?)

* * *

**Nine**

"I was just about to grab some dinner. Come with?"

Prentiss glanced up. "I hadn't really gotten that far."

Morgan noticed what appeared to be a ream of paper spread over the conference table and stepped further into the room.

"Copious notes and a semi-private environment. Must be an independent profile."

"_Please_ don't tell Hotch!" Emily cried as she scurried to close the conference room door. "He's upset enough already."

Derek fingered the pages. "What have you got?"

"Not a lot…" she admitted. "Except maybe that Ananke loves Thomas Benton. He's the only one she goes after repeatedly."

"Actions often lead to clues about personality traits."

Emily smiled. "Now you sound like Reid."

"Actually, I was remembering how Gideon approached a case," Derek replied. "He said that arsonists often had significant traumas in their past, while bombers were cowards."

"The kidnapping shows that Ananke feels the need to be empowered, to be in control; while torture suggests that she has a callous disregard for human life."

"That and the indiscriminate killing," Morgan agreed. "Whether she ordered it or carried out the act personally, it still speaks volumes."

"One of the things it says to me is that she doesn't think we're properly scared of her."

"Do you think she'll kill again?"

"If she's not satisfied with the way things are going."

"What about Benton? Out of all the men in Georgetown—or even the entire District—why did Ananke pick _him?_"

"She wanted to hurt me."

"She **did**," Derek pointed out. "If it was _just_ about hurting you, then she would have picked on the Bentons and the team and left you alone. Instead, she includes you in the attacks on the team and entirely ignores Andrea Benton."

"Do you think it's about the FBI?"

"I'm not sure _what_ to think. If it was all about the FBI, why involve the Bentons? And if it was only about the BAU, then why involve Alissa?"

The two special agents were quiet for a while, but it was Morgan who spoke again.

"Maybe it's because Tom Benton represents something Ananke wants or is missing."

Prentiss raised her eyebrow in question.

"If she was married before and lost her husband in a fire or a car accident, she might capture a replacement."

"And Thomas Benton fits the bill."

"Right," said Morgan. "She captures him, works her 'mojo' on him and suddenly, they're married and she's pregnant with their first kid."

Emily looked thoughtful for quite a while. "I can see how this all ties together, but I _still_ don't know what to do next."

"Go to dinner," ordered Hotchner, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

"We were just about to do that." Derek stood and snatched his jacket off the back of his chair, waiting until the supervisory special agent disappeared.

"We keep looking for her base—even if we have to search the entire country," Morgan said quietly. "When we find her, we treat her with the deference she thinks she deserves, so that she never has the chance to think that she may not be in control."

* * *

Hotchner hadn't let on, but there was a new source of irritation waiting in his office.

When Jack and Haley had been threatened by the Reaper, Assistant Director Graveolens had brought in the U.S. Marshal Service to take them out of harm's way. The same deputy had returned—this time, demanding answers.

"Deputy Samuel Kassmeyer."

"I _know_ who you are," Aaron growled, ignoring the proffered hand. "Sit!"

Sam frowned, but took a seat on the opposite side of Agent Hotchner's desk nonetheless.

"We've got a report in from the Nevada District. They seem to think you know the whereabouts of Claire Williams."

"Never heard of her."

"Mid twenties, five-six, maybe a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet?" Hotchner shook his head just as Sam said, "Shoulder-length blonde hair, gray eyes…"

Something twitched in Aaron's stomach. "'Claire Williams', you said?"

"That's right."

"Is Ms. Williams of Dutch descent?"

"Might be." The deputy shrugged. "My contact said that Williams has an English accent and she speaks fluent French."

"Sounds like a subject we're currently tracking."

Sam made a derogatory noise. "That _would_ be why I'm here."

"What does Nevada want with…Claire?"

"Witness testimony claims that she was associated with Frank Brietkopf for several years."

Hotchner stilled, blanching. "Brietkopf?"

"Oh, come on!" Sam cajoled. "I _know_ you worked that case! It was the last one before Supervisory Special Agent Gideon went AWOL!"

Aaron's expression became stony. "I **know** which case you meant. However, there was never any indication that Frank worked with _anyone_. Until we started tracking him, the only person that had seen him was his 'girlfriend', Jane."

The other shrugged. "We have witnesses that place Frank Brietkopf and Claire Williams together in several different locations around the country—including four shooting ranges. Until you have evidence to the contrary, we're going with our witnesses."

Hotchner barely heard Kassmeyer. The comment about the shooting ranges had put him in mind of a song he'd heard while flipping through stations a few days before. Somehow, Hotch didn't think that Frank had found "Claire" standing in the corner with her five best friends—driving her Camero while she fired a sawed-off shotgun from the passenger seat was more their style.

"Agent Hotchner? Are you with me?"

"The only person capable of corroborating that testimony is in hiding, with a prisoner we dare not disturb."

"Oh, so you _do_ know where she is!"

"No."

"But you just said—"

"I said _nothing_ about knowing the location of the woman you call Claire Williams!" Aaron bit back. "I merely acknowledged that there was a woman that _could_ prove your witnesses correct—especially since it appears that she and Ms. Williams are one and the same."

Sam considered this. "If she's in hiding, how do you know she has a hostage?"

"The gentleman's wife came forward."

"Your supposed hostage could be _anywhere_!"

"Thomas Benton is Cl—Ananke's _prisoner_," Hotch said sharply. "Special Agent Prentiss ran into him last month."

Kassmeyer smirked. "Not much of a 'prisoner', is he?"

"If you were doing your _job_, you'd be demanding to know why Agent Prentiss didn't take Benton into protective custody!"

Sam leaned forward, still smirking. "That's because this is all an elaborate cover-up by the FBI. You're keeping Williams to yourselves so that the BAU gets all the glory."

Hotchner rummaged through a drawer and stood up.

"Watch your attitude, or Ananke will see that you end up like _this_ poor soul."

He slapped down a still of the unknown whose execution the BAU had witnessed weeks before.

"Now get _OUT!_"

* * *

Reid was unnerved when he discovered that the power was out. There hadn't been any thunderstorms recently and it had been mild enough the last few days that neither the heat nor the air had been warranted.

_I bet all the other houses around here have lights_, he thought.

But Reid never got the chance to check. The latch on the front door wouldn't budge and the knob at the back of the house wouldn't turn.

_Ohhkayyy_… Reid traipsed back through the house. _At least I bought hurricane lamps when I moved out here from Las Vegas_.

He arrived at the fireplace, stopped and took a deep breath. Somehow, all these years with the FBI hadn't relieved his fear of the dark. After a moment, Reid felt around on the mantel, grateful that Garcia had convinced him to trade his matches for a lighter. When the lamps were lit, he picked one up and went off in search of his cell phone.

_Where on earth_…? Reid stopped dead. His iPhone was charging on his desk. At work.

"Power's out, cell's gone…" he muttered, yanking at the front door once again. "Aaand I can't get out to borrow the neighbor's phone. Excellent."

It was then that he realized that the lamp he'd left burning on the mantel appeared to have gone out.

Reid debated for a few minutes whether the lamp was worth the trouble. It couldn't have run out of kerosene—he always kept his hurricane lamps filled. It must have been an old wick. Just as he decided to let it go and began thinking about where he had last seen a flashlight, the street lights went out.

"A squirrel must have run into the transformer again," he reassured himself.

But one glance out the window informed him that that was faulty logic—the rest of the houses in his line of sight appeared to be glowing brightly.

"Generators?"

_But why would city people have generators?_ the timid part of his mind asked. _Quantico is just like the District—the power is back on before any other city in the area!_

Reid didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was getting a bit frantic.

_Maybe it's about time to break out a window and call for help._

As if in answer to his thoughts, a cool breeze flowed over the arm holding the remaining lamp. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, but it was too late—the glass chimney hadn't been enough to protect the flame.

"Good evening, Spencer."

Reid nearly screamed, but had the foresight to place the lamp on a nearby table before he dropped it.

"It's my turn, isn't it?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

He still couldn't make out the speaker, but the woman had a Dutch/English accent that made her identity obvious.

"You subjected Morgan to date rape." Reid began ticking off the incidences on his fingers. "You gave Jareau a supernatural beauty crisis. You sent Garcia a first aid kit—presumably as a preliminary peace offering. You tortured and nearly killed Alexander. You made Prentiss watch the sexual torture of the parents of her childhood friend and then did unspeakable things to her."

He gulped and his voice grew quiet. "I'm next."

"And what do you think I intend to do to you, Spencer?"

"Any number of things, so long as I feel tortured by them." He tried to regain his earlier confidence. "Your constant use of my name is a reminder that you enjoy being in control and intend to stay that way at all times."

There was a pause in which Spencer nearly jumped a mile as a spider ran up his leg.

"Smart boy."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

1. Watching "No Way Out" puts me in mind of "Good Girls Go Bad" (Cobra Starship), so that's how Hotch came up with it. ;)


	11. Ten

**A/N:** The novel is finished! Well, the first draft, anyway. Now that I'm in the middle of the second, I have more time to finish my fan fiction—and I intend to finish them before moving on to the next! (Novel, not draft. ;) )

* * *

**Ten**

He couldn't believe it. A bible and a rosary, just as he had asked. It had been amazing when a television—unrequested—had suddenly began appearing on Sundays, allowing him to watch televised mass; but _this_ was quite a concession.

Tom sat on his bed and began thumbing through the bible. It was the plain-language bible that had become popular with young people in recent years, but it didn't matter. So long as it was an intact Christian holy book, a bible was a bible.

He fingered the rosary lovingly. Tom was surprised to note that the pale green beads weren't the plastic, glow-in-the-dark sort found at dollar stores, but actual bits of jade strung together with tiny links of filigreed chain.

"Wow," he murmured. "She sure has mellowed since I helped her conceive!"

There was a surreptitious knock at the door and Tom heard all the security measures release. A young man stepped into the room with a cart bearing the evening meal, which had become more lavish as of late. The servant lifted the cover from the tray, revealing half a ham steak, a whole wheat roll, and a baked potato drowning in sour cream and butter.

"You may have soda, decaffeinated coffee or tea." He caught sight of the rosary. "May I?"

"I'll have tea," Tom replied, handing it over.

The servant admired the rosary for a few moments, then handed it back, smiling.

"From The Lady?"

Tom nodded.

"You know that jade is a traditional engagement gift from a woman to a man…?"

The young man left to get the beverage and Tom threw aside in disgust.

* * *

"Been in here long?"

"_Too_ long!" The older gentleman smiled ruefully. "They've probably stopped looking for me by now."

"You…ah…see anybody killed?"

"One. Kneeling right next to me. Didn't even see the poor sap's face."

Sam eyed his cellmate. For someone who had been held "too long", he seemed rather comfortable in blue jeans and a short-sleeved shirt of forest green. Kassmeyer, meanwhile, had begun to suffer from the airlessness of the room and sorely wished he had been stripped by his captors.

"Know why you were caught?"

"I'm a deputy marshal," Sam said a little too proudly. "I came to interrogate…Ananke, is it? About her connection to Claire Williams and her relationship with Frank Brietkopf."

"Never heard of Williams or Brietkopf."

Sam began to unbutton his shirt. "You get caught snooping too?"

"Can't say I've ever been that stupid. But by the sounds, _you've_ been doing too damn much of it!"

Kassmeyer was surprised—his cellmate hadn't seemed like the type to cuss. Especially since he was getting the feeling that he had seen the other man before…with glasses.

"Do you think we'll die?"

His cellmate smirked. "I'm in no danger of that. Ananke is at least six weeks pregnant—and it's mine."

Sam blanched. "Benton?"

"Last I was allowed to look in a mirror."

"This is a setup!"

"How slowly you catch on."

The deputy marshal slunk toward the opposite side of the room. "But I'm safe with you, right? The FBI told me that you were a…ah…_fundamentalist_."

"It's possible that I might adhere to a _new_ set of fundamentals after being held captive for so long."

Tom slipped off the counter upon which he had been seated. "Ananke is the key to seeing my wife again. She's also carrying my only living child. It would be wise to do whatever it takes to please her."

"'Thou shalt not kill' is one of the Ten Commandments!"

"I am not naïve enough to believe—even for a moment—that Ananke will allow me to live if I refuse to kill you." The older man's voice was becoming dangerous. "My god is not that naïve, either."

Sam stared at Tom uncomprehendingly. This was the meek soul that Agent Hotchner had claimed was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? A flash of movement caught the deputy's eye. Without waiting to see what the other had grabbed, Sam lunged.

Tom moved a centimeter to the right and the deputy's flight fell short. While Sam was recovering from his collision with the table that formerly sat in the middle of the room, the older man was already wrenching off a leg.

"Please! What will your wife say?"

"My wife will forgive me!"

He swung.

"My priest will forgive me!"

Again.

"_Jesus Christ_ will forgive me!"

The final blow shattered the table leg over Sam's head, the remainder of which Tom swiftly threw aside. Kassmeyer had begun to crawl away, his vision dimmed by the nearly killing blows. While the deputy marshal was fleeing, however, he missed Tom's grab for the scalpel he had dropped at the beginning of the fight.

"It's a shame Lady Ananke didn't give me a gun," Tom said breathlessly. "I would have enjoyed shooting you through the kneecaps, both feet…maybe breaking a toe in the process? Then, when you were crying for mercy, I would shoot you pointe blank and string you up from the overhead light!"

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. There had been rumors that Ananke had fantastic powers…the ability to make anyone think _anything_ was happening to them. Yes, that was it. Ananke was giving him a living nightmare. He would certainly come out of this alive.

Unfortunately, Sam was too busy trying to clear his head and catch his breath to notice that his opponent had dropped the scalpel again and was rummaging around in a previously unseen cupboard. By the time Sam was able to roll over, it was just in time to see Tom donning a gas mask.

"She left me a circular saw."

*****

Ananke watched the live feed, stunned. A servant had brought popcorn, but the bowl sat on a nearby table, growing cold. Just as she began to wonder if Tom would be able to go all the way, a splash of blood hit the hidden camera. Ananke jumped in spite of herself, screaming a little as the feed shorted out.

"My Lady?" A servant peeked into the room.

"Call Doctor Schuler."

"I—"

"I don't _care_ if she's an obstetrician! Call Doctor Schuler!"

When the servant was gone, Ananke weakly sat back in her chair and flicked off the television.

"Well," she said in her softest Dutch. She placed a hand over her stomach. "He certainly knows how to protect his family, doesn't he?"

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Well, wasn't _that_ a trip? I love it when characters run away from me!

Let's see if you caught all the references:

1. Tom's mention of shooting Sam in the knees and feet and breaking a toe is from the _Criminal Minds_ episode "100". (That's how Sam _actually_ died.) Bashing his head in with a table leg is an indirect (and unintentional) reference to the way Hotch killed The Reaper in the same episode.

2. Tom's mention of shooting Sam pointe blank and stringing him from the rafters is a reference to the way D.B. Sweeney's character (John Goetz) died in the _Jericho_ episode "Termination for Cause".

3. Sam's death is an indirect homage to _Dexter_, James Remar's (Tom Benton) usual show. (Although quite a _violent_ homage!)


	12. Eleven

**Advanced Warning: **Part of this chapter seems a little…soap opera-y. (To me, anyway.)

* * *

**Eleven**

"Please forgive me!" he cried, throwing himself into her arms.

"What must I forgive you for?" Ananke asked, clearly startled.

When Tom didn't answer, she helped him over to his bed; carefully avoiding the fallen rosary. He curled up instinctively, seemingly uncaring that his head was in his captor's lap.

"I killed him," Tom whispered after a lengthy silence. "I killed him when he never did anything to me!"

"_Mijn_ _liefje_, _mijn_ _liefje_, _mijn liefde_!" Ananke crooned, stroking a lock of hair away from his eyes. You did what was required of you…there's no shame in that!"

He swallowed a sob. "_Why_ did I kill him?"

"You had a psychotic break," she said gently. "All the rage you've held against me, the heartbreak of being apart from your wife…any negativity that you've held inside your heart…finally came pouring out."

"I'm going to hell."

"Your god will forgive you."

"You know _**nothing**_ of my god!" Tom roared, nearly bolting off Ananke's lap. "You act like you know so much about Christianity, yet you forget that 'thou shalt not kill' is one of the Ten Commandments!"

"Calm down," she snarled. "Listen well, because I am only going to tell you once."

He gave her a hard look, then nestled somewhat uncomfortably in her lap.

"If I had any thought for your sensitivity, I would have sent you in there with a dagger, so that you could make clean work of Kassmeyer's death. Instead, I thought for myself. I decided that if I left the dagger in an obvious location, Kassmeyer would find it and you'd be dead in a heartbeat. Furthermore, I didn't think you'd kill him if I ask you outright, so I drugged you and threw you in there."

This time, Tom sat up so fast that he nearly rammed his head on her chin.

"You _wanted_ me to kill the deputy marshal?"

"Would I have wasted my time caressing your cheek and calling you 'darling' if I was angry?"

He hesitated, recalling that she had said something else after 'darling'.

"What else did you say?"

Ananke met Tom's gaze for a moment, then looked away.

"I called you 'my love'."

Tom grabbed her chin and turned Ananke's head so that she was facing him.

"You're in _love_ with me?!"

"Unfortunate as it may be."

"You would marry me if I asked?"

"You would _never_ ask!" she snapped. "Even if you did, how would I know if it was out of love or because you suffered from Stockholm syndrome?"

"I believe in marrying the woman carrying my baby," he said quietly.

Ananke slapped him, stunned.

"What fool of a servant would risk their life to tell you that I'm pregnant?"

"None," Tom replied. "One man told the other than a woman called Stella had ordered all non-essential staff to stay out of the west wing. It devolved into a discussion of the order and what it meant that Dr. Schuler had been called in."

"All this happened within your hearing?"

"They stood outside my door."

Ananke rose. "I will call a meeting at once."

Tom's voice stopped her halfway to the door.

"You will abort it, then?"

"Temair Maolíosa Benton is my _daughter_," Ananke said coolly. "I will raise her myself."

* * *

"Have you heard from Samuel Kassmeyer?"

Morgan glanced up from his work. "The deputy marshal?"

Hotchner nodded.

"Not since the incident with Jack and Haley."

"You need to keep better track of your associates," a familiar voice boomed.

Assistant Director Graveolens strolled into the bullpen and slapped an open jacket on Morgan's desk.

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Samuel D. Kassmeyer was found facedown in the reflecting pool on the Washington Mall earlier this morning."

Her strident tone attracted the rest of the team.

"The _head_ of Samuel Kassmeyer was found floating in the reflecting pool," Rue corrected herself. "The captain of the dive team told her supervisor that Kassmeyer's head was the biggest part they could find."

The BAU team shot each other anxious looks, but Hotch was busy staring at the wall.

"Our visitor logs show that Deputy Kassmeyer paid you a visit a few days ago, Agent Hotchner. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"He was here about Ananke," Hotch said quietly.

"The one you like for the Benton case?" demanded Rue.

He nodded. "Kassmeyer didn't know that her name is Ananke. Said he wanted more information about Claire Williams and her associations with Frank Brietkopf."

Rue's eyebrow headed toward her hairline. "The one who drove Dr. Gideon over the edge?"

"The very same," Emily replied.

Hotchner shot her a Look.

"Was Ananke ever associated with Brietkopf?" Rue asked.

"We haven't pursued that lead," said Hotch. "It concerns a dead unsub and is not relevant to our case."

"If you're sure that Ananke and Williams are one and the same, it is _certainly_ relevant to your investigation!" the assistant director cried. "If you follow every tip concerning Williams, you will be able to examine Ananke's habits, look for patterns. You might even catch a break that will lead you to Benton!"

Hotchner maintained a sullen silence, causing Rue to glower.

"Get this squared away, Agent Hotchner, or Agent Rossi will be in charge!"

* * *

**Translation note:** I wasn't able to find "darling" in online English/Dutch dictionaries, so I settled for "sweetheart". _Mijn liefde_ is the correct translation of "my love", however…I used "my love" in the original version and a Dutch reader gave me the proper words.

**Pronunciation:** Temair Maolíosa = Tah-wair May-lisa (the Anglicized version of Temair's name will appear in the epilogue)


	13. Twelve

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long…I had it written a few days ago, but wasn't satisfied until now.

* * *

**Twelve**

Aaron Hotchner woke from his nap around 3:30. Since it was one of his rare days off, Hotch had every intention of sleeping until five—especially with Jack over at a friend's house.

Except he had woken to music.

"Jack?"

No response.

"Jack? Turn down the radio! Daddy's trying to sleep!"

"_I've tried to climb your steps…I've tried to see how low I can get down to the ground…"_

_At least he chose something without profanity_, Hotchner thought as he crawled off the bed.

In recent months, Jack had gotten a little more precocious in regards to the radio, resulting in strange music playing at odd hours. As he searched for the source of the music, Aaron seemed to forget that his son wasn't supposed to be home.

"Jack?"

Hotch thumped down the stairs, surprised to discover that the landing no longer ended in the living room.

In front of him stretched a vast golden field; in the distance, a gleaming antique carousel. At first, the carousel was too far away to discern the riders, but as he drew closer, Hotchner discovered Jack riding astride a great bay stallion. Keeping a watchful eye from the platform was Tom Benton.

"Jack?" Aaron started running. "Mr. Benton?"

As he sprinted, Hotch realized that he was getting no closer. After a moment, the field dissolved and he found himself no more than three steps from the landing. A young woman in a scoop-necked gown of sapphire velour knelt where the carousel had been. Hotchner looked at her bent form and found his breath catching in his throat.

"Did you lose your son, Aaron?" Ananke looked up, smiling. "Or is Jack busy 'working the case' with you?"

Hotchner was half tempted to check Jack's hiding place, but he remained firm. This was just another one of her tricks.

"This ends here," he said quietly.

"They always say that," Ananke mused. "Yet it never does."

She came to her feet so slowly that Hotchner was able to reach for his nine millimeter and take his time in aiming.

"_Mooi _Hotchner, I can read the doubt in your mind!" Ananke's smile was poisonously sweet. "Go ahead…make sure that I am not holding your son captive. I promise that I will be here when you get back!"

Seeing him falter, she added, "You might like to step down to a sporting goods store while you're looking. Your clip is empty and I disposed of every last bit of ammunition in the house."

Hotch stared at the gun, dumbfounded. It had been lying on his bedside table as he napped and he was sure that no one had been upstairs in weeks.

"Of course, you're more than welcome to try to pistol-whip me!"

Aaron aimed between her eyes. "Enough games!"

"Oh…very well."

With a speed formerly reserved for vampires, the woman disappeared for a moment. When she returned, Ananke was clutching Jack, a hypodermic needle pressed to his carotid artery.

"Medical experts say that when you get the wrong combination of chemicals, lethal injection can be very painful," she said lightly. "Unfortunately, I've never had the chance to prove them wrong."

"Release it!" Hotchner warned. "Let my son go and I'll make sure some of the charges are dropped!"

Her laughter was throaty, vicious. "You and your little friends have thought of a way to keep me in prison? Even if your laws allowed you to blind me and paralyze me, I would still have my way! In fact, a lack of certain abilities might make me _more_ powerful! But then, no one has ever been stupid enough to try."

"What makes you think we'll let you live?"

"The American justice system." Ananke continued to smile. "You cannot execute me without giving me a trial!"

Hotchner watched her anxiously, wondering if he had time to reach for the pistol he'd dropped moments before. As he was trying to decide, the young woman threw his son aside.

"Jack!"

Aaron leapt for his son, but the boy had already disappeared. Part of him was wondering if Jack had been there in the first place, but the rest was occupied in the tangle with Ananke. For such a slender, beautiful woman, she was unusually strong and fought like a bitch; Hotchner had little doubt that Frank had taught her a thing or two during their time together.

In one breathless shove, Aaron had her up against the wall, his forearm across her throat. "Give in!"

Ananke's breath came in ragged gasps and Hotch realized that he would have to let up a little if he expected her to speak.

"You think I'll talk if you take me in?" she panted. "You think I'll give up the location of my home, so you can rescue Tom before sunrise?"

The young woman didn't give him a chance to answer—she was already wrestling out of his grasp. Hotchner tried to hang onto her, but Ananke rolled and came up with the gun.

"Thought you said you disposed of all the ammunition?"

"I didn't say _where!_" Ananke smirked. "I would refrain from jumping me…unless you _want_ to take the chance that I didn't hide a clip on my person!"

"What do you want?"

She darted forward and clocked him with the butt of the gun.

"This will do nicely."

* * *

**Song:** "Sick Cycle Carousel" by Lifehouse (on "No Name Face")

**Translation:** Mooi: Dutch for "handsome"


	14. Thirteen

**Thirteen**

It was the bones that caused Prentiss to come to a screeching halt; but she didn't come close to hyperventilating until she saw what was on the ceiling.

"HOTCHNER!"

Emily was faintly aware of someone catching her as she crumpled to the floor. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into their shoulder, not caring to meet the gaze of her savior. There were noises in the background that sounded like her supervisory special agent giving orders…like Penelope Garcia reacting to the scene…

Prentiss blacked out.

*****

"The bones had a chemical smell to them" she heard Morgan saying.

"They were probably washed in acid," replied Reid.

Emily opened her eyes to discover that she was leaning on Rossi's shoulder. The elder agent smiled as she sat up.

"They weren't…" Everyone looked at Garcia as she faltered. "They weren't Tom Benton's bones?"

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Assistant Director Graveolens is missing," announced the gentleman that stepped through the door.

"Have you run DNA tests on the bones found in the corridor?" asked Hotchner.

"Forensics is on it right now. One of the other assistant directors is notifying Agent Alexander's family."

Hotch nodded.

"Did they find an AFIS match for the fingerprints on your nine millimeter?"

Both glanced at Garcia, who was fighting off a new round of tears after being reminded of the fate of Agent Alexander.

"There was nothing unusual, Hotch." She raised her head from Morgan's shoulder. "Only your prints were on the grip."

"That's physically impossible!" Reid interrupted. "If Ananke wasn't wearing gloves, there _has_ to be prints!"

Sensing that he was about to be ignored, the gentleman said, "Let me know if you find anything, Agent Hotchner." Half the team watched him slip out of the room.

"Who was that?" Prentiss inquired.

"Assistant Director Skinner," Spencer replied. "Though I was under the impression that he retired quite a few years ago.

"Skinner?" Morgan's voice was near laughter. "You mean like the guy on _X-Files_?"

"How did Agent Alexander die?" J.J. interrupted.

"Exsanguination," said Rossi. "With everything carved on her chest…"

"She could have bled out from her hands and feet, as well," Reid added. "It's hard to determine an exact cause of death just seeing her crucified on the ceiling."

"I feel like I've seen that before," Emily mused. "In a movie, maybe?"

"Satan killed Thomas Aquinas that way in _End of Days_," David replied. "Alissa's murderer was trying to make a statement in mimicking the movie."

"What about the bones?" Penelope wondered. "They're not Thomas Benton's?"

Reid shook his head. "The pubic symphysis was degraded. They belonged to a woman."

A veil of silence fell as each thought of what had passed and what was yet to come.

"Ananke won't kill Benton any time soon," Hotchner announced after a while. "Not while she's pregnant."

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit into Rossi's coffee cup. "She's pregnant?"

"Three or four months along," Aaron affirmed. "She rested her hand on her stomach the few times we stood still…it was gently rounded, as if she hadn't been carrying for very long."

"How do we know it's his?"

"Why would she keep Benton if it wasn't?" Derek answered.

"She said she wouldn't reveal his location if I brought her in," said Hotchner. "I'm sure it's his."

"Ananke mentioned Tom without prompting, right?" J.J. asked.

Her supervisor nodded.

"She wouldn't have brought him up if he hadn't given her a reason to be always on her mind."

"I _know_ Thomas Benton," Prentiss argued. "He wouldn't have intercourse with anyone other than his wife."

"Not willingly," Rossi murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"There are two possibilities," Rossi continued. "Ananke either created an illusion that caused Benton to believe he was copulating with his wife…or he was drugged."

"Is that possible? Sex through drugs, I mean?"

"It wouldn't take much," said Reid. "Tie him down and give him a vasodilator. An injectable like Edex would be easier than forcing him to swallow a pill."

"Add a sedative and you have the perfect victim," Morgan's tone was grim.

"You're next," Hotchner said suddenly.

It took Rossi a moment to realize Aaron was speaking to him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're Ananke's next target," Garcia clarified. "Assuming she still has no intention of going after me."

"Wear a bulletproof vest," added Reid. "She may be willing to kill by this time."

"Have one ready for Benton, too," Prentiss said. "Ananke may be carrying his child, but he may also be her grand finale.

* * *

David was fitting the stopper back on the decanter of vodka when he realized that he was not alone.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

As he'd half-expected, a young woman had appeared on the other side of the room, looking for all the world as if she were an invited guest.

"No. Thank you."

He settled into his favorite easy chair and took a good look at her over the rim of his glass.

Hotchner had described her as a woman on the edge, a warrior ready for battle. He'd insisted that if the Dutch had allowed women into their special forces, Ananke would have gone far. Instead, Rossi found himself gazing at a woman in her mid-twenties, poised and self-assured. She wore a white satin gown that he supposed was floor-length, her dark blonde hair flowing unbound about her shoulders. A warrior at one time, perhaps, but now nothing more than an expectant mother who was more than met the eye.

"When are you due?" he asked pleasantly.

"Why do you ask?"

"Special Agent Hotchner shared his suspicions," David explained. "I am sure that Mr. Benton is none too thrilled, however."

"I suppose you think that you can use that against me? That I am weaker when I am with child?" she demanded. "Allow me to remind you who is in control!"

Ananke sprang to her feet and dissolved before Rossi could blink. When she returned a moment later, she wasn't alone.

Behind her stood what he suspected was a man, attired in a black muscle shirt and black pants that emphasized his front and back assets. Cuffs of black leather were locked upon each wrist and a matching collar gleamed upon his neck. Only when he discovered that Ananke was locking her prisoner into a chair did David realize that the gentleman was blindfolded, a variation on a ball gag stuffing a sturdy leather pod into his mouth.

The young woman kept her eyes on the agent as she moved behind the chair. When she was sure that she still had Rossi's attention, Ananke placed her hands on the prisoner's shoulders and purred,

"Have a nightmare!"

He trembled and David jumped slightly. When the man began to convulse, David was forced to ask,

"Is he suffering much?"

"No more than when you have a nightmare," Ananke said, amused. She settled into a chair, the skirt of her gown shifting to indicate that she'd crossed her legs. After a length of time punctuated by incoherent exclamations from the prisoner, Rossi broke the silence.

"If you release Thomas Benton immediately, I will ensure that some of the charges are dropped."

"He's not a bargaining chip," she said serenely. "Presently, he's for exhibition."

"You have two choices, then." Rossi drained his glass. "You may remain in the country until you have given birth, at which time your child will be granted citizenship and you will be deported. Or you may attempt to marry Mr. Benton and have your day in court."

While the special agent was laying out her options, Ananke had gently awoken her captive and fetched something from the chair behind him. Now that Rossi was finished, she pushed the other man to his knees, causing his arms to be stretched out painfully behind him. In one swift movement, Ananke slipped into the crescent created by her prisoner's arms and tore off his blindfold. There was a flash of light and an ornate silver dagger gleamed at Thomas Benton's throat as fear blazed across his eyes.

"I tire of you, David Rossi," she snarled. "You and your whole outfit! Do you know why you are still alive? The game has grown stale! I could have killed you _weeks_ ago, but you would have sent your little friends after me; and me and mine would never live in peace.

"Make your choice, David. Swear that the Bureau will not hunt me for five generations or Benton _dies!_"

Aaron Hotchner strode into the room.

"Rossi's 'little friends' are already here."

* * *

**AFIS:** (Integrated) Automated Fingerprint Identification System


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Several months later_

_*****_

She had aged ten years, it seemed, since they were last together. When he first stepped into the room, he believed that she'd been wearing an off-white shift, her hair in a messy bun. But when he looked again, she was dressed in a burgundy prison jumpsuit, her golden locks shortened into what might be considered a military haircut.

"The corrections officer said that I'm the only one on your visitation list."

"The only family I have, I carry with me." Ananke patted her belly, fully grown at nearly eight months along.

"What about your staff?"

"Quite a few were sent to jail. The rest are off leading their lives." She paused. "I am amazed you deigned to see me."

"I've spent a lot of time soul searching, alone and with Father Lawrence. My priorities rest with you and with…"

"Tara." Ananke placed her hand atop Tom's and smiled up at him. "Her friends will want to use her Anglicized name."

"Tara," he echoed, returning the smile.

"I cannot be your priority solely because I am the mother of your child," Ananke reminded him. "What happened to Andrea?"

"We spent five weeks in counseling," Tom admitted after several long minutes. "Including a marriage encounter weekend put on by the diocese. But I think she had her mind made up long before the rescue."

Ananke looked as if she was about to apologize for ending his marriage, but he continued.

"Andrea didn't stay the length of the last appointment. She walked out of the counselor's office and when Marilyn confronted her in the hall, Andrea said that she was going straight to the courthouse to file for divorce. I came home an hour later and she was already on the phone with Father Lawrence, getting instructions on how to file for an annulment."

The young woman squeezed his hand and rose to speak with the corrections officer standing outside the door. She returned with a box of tissue a moment later.

"Are they treating you well?" he asked after a time in which the two of them pretended that he hadn't been wiping his eyes.

"As well as could be expected," Ananke replied. "I was treated roughly for the first week or so, but after the trial, everyone began acting as if I had been put in my place."

"How long is your sentence?"

"Life, with parole eligibility in fifteen years." She took his hand again. "But they're going to re-evaluate after I give birth—they may take the option to deport me."

Tom hesitated. "I need to decide whether Tara and I will stay in Georgetown or follow you to Holland."

"I would never force such a decision on you," Ananke replied. "But regardless of what you choose, I will only be here for two years."

He looked at her curiously.

"An officer will let me in after my time in the exercise yard and 'forget' to lock the door." She waved a hand to indicate using her powers. "One day, I'll walk out and never come back."

They sat holding hands until the officer announced that they had fifteen minutes remaining.

"That night…why did you whisper that you weren't going to kill me?"

"You would rather Rossi saw natural terror?" Ananke smiled wryly. "When I told you I loved you, I was not deceiving you."

Tom didn't answer. He didn't need to. She could read the argument against marriage on his face.

"Visit me a few more times before Temair is born, hmm?" Ananke said as she rose. "Bring her to see me once in a while? So she won't forget me?"

Her former prisoner stared at the wall as she gave him a chaste kiss and sauntered toward the door. When he was alone, Tom spoke.

"I forgive you, Ananke."

* * *

Two years to the date of Ananke Müeller's incarceration, Thomas Benton disappeared. He was never seen or heard from again.

By the FBI, anyway.


End file.
